


Bright Eyes, Lights Dimmed

by welcome2atlantis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Casual Sex, Dom/sub overtones, Drunk Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex Work, Iwa warned him, Kyoutani likes to get into fist fight, Kyoutani makes questionable life choices, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Sober Sex, Trans Male Character, a full story now, bc i have no impulse control, general violence, getting more like, it's a mob au so about what youd expect, light to moderate asphyxiation kink, mob!au, pre-negation is treated as v important, side pairings if you squint, so just to be safe dubcon tagging, trans!Yahaba, warnings in notes before each chapter, yakuza!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2019-09-27 16:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcome2atlantis/pseuds/welcome2atlantis
Summary: Iwaizumi had told Kyoutani to watch out for Oikawa's men, only to get more than he bargained for when he learns that the pretty boy he danced with at the club is third-in-command of Oikawa's group of mobsters. But instead of killing each other, like they're supposed to, they ended up in bed together. Because apparently even knowing he was fraternizing with the enemy wasn't enough for Kyoutani to keep his hands to himself. It didn't help that Yahaba seemed to be encouraging it.{A oneshot that morphed into a sort-of story}





	1. Try'n Start a Riot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoutani's libido takes control and shit gets complicated.  
> or  
> Yahaba uses attract. Kyoutani is now infatuated. Kyoutani is unable to attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story came out of a Paranormal/Cops!au I was writing for fun that got way out of hand, so obviously I took a break and wrote the total opposite aka a mob family AU. That was like... in May. It's unbeta-ed and only lightly edited. If someone wants to retroactively help with that hit me up.  
> Update: now this too is a multichapter monstrosity that got way out of hand. oops.

Through the dim light Kyoutani stared up at the ceiling without really seeing, wondering how the hell he'd ended up here. Iwaizumi had warned him about this when he'd first joined up. Told him that Oikawa had his sights set on him too.

_“Shittykawa doesn't give up easy. He's a stubborn S.O.B,” Iwaizumi had said. “And when he can't get what he wants through charm he gets his second in command Matsukawa to do the bloody work.”_

_“I won't bend for that crap,” he’d replied brusquely._

_“That, I'm not worried about,” Iwaizumi had said frankly. “Matsukawa might be a blood-thirsty brute but he's lazy and about as subtle as a punch to the face. I’m more worried about the little shit Oikawa’s been training. The guy’s a sneaky, manipulative little fucker. It's just less obvious than Oikawa's style. Looks about as threatening as a baby kitten, but he's just as bat shit crazy as the rest of them.”_

He'd brushed off the warning. Fuck Oikawa– Kyoutani couldn't stand the asshole. He'd rather take a bullet then suffer in the same room with the Grand King or whatever crap they were calling him nowadays.

Then last night he'd ended up at the ring. He’d needed to blow off some steam, and a bareknuckles brawl with one of Ushiwaka’s newbies meant getting _paid_ to beat the shit out of someone. He’d had a couple drinks before the fight, just enough to numb the pain a little. Not that he needed it. In a fight he rarely felt the pain until much later. It'd been how he'd gotten that god-awful nickname, because he never stayed down. Nothing more then rabid dog.

After he'd beat the newbie’s face until it was unrecognizable, a few people had bought him congratulatory drinks. They’d probably won money off the fight. He wasn't about to turn down free alcohol (as long as he saw it being made. He wasn't about to let some tool slip something in his drink).

Then trouble walked up –a pretty little thing with a innocent, boyish face and round, soft eyes. Very much his type, but with a sharp smile that caught Kyoutani’s eye. The violence of a fight always left him cranked and Kyoutani'd had enough booze in him to loosen up. Enough that he’d agreed to a dance. Enough that he’d pulled the slightly taller man against him, arm wrapped around the strangers waist as they started to move together. Enough that he'd pulled the man snug against him, back to his chest, had that tight ass grinding against him until he was halfway hard. He couldn't hear it over the pounding music, but he could feel the guy laugh, moving against him with more intent then, before leaning his head back onto Kyoutanis’ shoulder and dragged his lips over Kyoutanis’ jaw in a tease.

He wasn't exactly sure how soon after that he'd dragged pretty boy into the men's room, but he distinctly remembers his surprise at being pushed against the stalls’ wall as soon as it's locked and that their kissing was fierce and cutting and so unexpected it'd left him dazed and gasping as he failed to grapple and flip their position. He wasn't used to other guys meeting his aggression with equal force. Or in this guys case, greater. Hell, none of his past hookups had the balls to try and push him against any surface before– never really considered it. Apparently it was A Thing for him because Kyoutani had gone from zero to a hundred so fast it knocked the breath from him in a shuddery groan.

There'd been a moment when Kyoutani had slipped his hand up the back of the other guys shirt and found some kind of tight material around the guys chest. He’d pulled back with a confused sound before his drunk brain put two and two together.

The guy was trans.

He remembered the guy asking him ” _Is that gonna be a problem for you?_ ”

He doesn't recall what exactly his reply was, only that he'd stuck his other hand up the guys loose shirt and scraped his nails down the guys sides, gotten a shiver in response. Whatever he'd said had pulled another of those sharp smiles out of the man before his deft hands had Kyoutanis’ pants undone and underwear shoved down enough to free his cock before sinking to his knees.

After he'd come –more quickly then he had in years if he was being honest– all over the guys face he was being kissed again. He was _not_ a fan of the taste of himself that lingered in the kiss, but whatever. The guy had a helluva mouth, whether he was sucking cock or kissing him into submission. Enough that Kyoutani didn’t protest or shove him away.

He'd been a little more hesitant when the guy had teased that if Kyoutani was going to make a mess, he'd better clean up after himself. Then he'd caught on to the movement of the hand moving between them. The guys’ hand down his own pants, rubbing himself off and Kyoutani can remember with the clarity of oncoming sobriety of thinking ' _fuck it_ ’ before licking the mess off the guys face before mashing their mouths together again, sucking on that wicked tongue, gripping each cheek of that ass in both hands until the guy lost it too –tensing, gasping into Kyoutani’s mouth, the fingers of the hand at the nape of his neck biting into skin as the man shook apart against him.

It was when he’d exited the bathroom, leaving the other guy left behind to primp himself or whatever, that Hanamaki pulled him aside and told him exactly who he'd just let blow him in the men's room. They'd turned in tandem to see Yahaba exiting the restroom just as the implications of his actions sunk into Kyoutani’s rapidly sobering head. Yahaba had caught their stares and gave Kyoutani another of those dangerous smiles before blowing him a mocking kiss. The lingering smell of sex and sweat was still cooling on his skin, Yahaba’s lips still flushed and slightly swollen from hard kisses and sucking cock, and now Kyoutani was about to rip the little fuckers throat out.

With an iron grip, he’d and dragged Yahaba outside and into an alleyway. He’d snapped and snarled but Yahaba's little smile never faltered. If anything he’d gotten more smug the angrier Kyoutani got.

 

–

 

He wished he could blame it on the booze, but he was unfortunately sober by the time they’d ended up in some shitty hotel that rented rooms by the hour.

 

–-

 

The hotel's crumbling ceiling held no answers for him, so Kyoutani turned his head from glaring holes into the water stained ceiling to look at Yahaba. He took that unobserved moment in the shadows to study the man. They’d ignored the lights when they’d first come in, only turned one of the besides lamps on when Kyoutani had to track down a condom. It left him backlit from Yahaba’s perspective and in the dim light he could see Yahaba where he was propped up against the headboard. The glow from the cell phone in Yahaba’s right hand cast his face in a starker light and he’d lit a cigaret earlier –the nice European kind he noted, not the shitty stuff his parents had smoked that smelled like tar and smog– that he held in the other hand. The tip glowed dull and red, lighting up Yahaba’s face in a softer flickering of shadows every time he took a drag. The disparity between the two light sources on Yahaba’s face could almost cast Yahaba into two wholly separate people.

He wonders where exactly he’d gotten that sort of deep, introspective bullshit from. He decided to blame it on boredom and the haze a good fuck left him, on how long of a break they were both taking to catch their breath, Yahaba coming down from his most recent orgasm, Kyoutani recovering from eating Yahaba out until he’d come in a silent scream.

It’d been different from the couple times Kyoutani had eaten ass. In fact, the whole experience had been surreal. He’d only ever slept with guys –wait, no, Yahaba was a guy. Guys with dicks? There was a word for it Kyoutani couldn’t remember. Whatever, close enough. He’d ask later– He’d felt like a fish out of water at the start – like a kid again, fumbling and awkward and defensive about it– but turned out Yahaba was ridiculously bossy in bed. He’d told Kyoutani exactly what he wanted, how he wanted it, and complained when Kyoutani hesitated, treated him too carefully, or didn’t met Yahaba’s dominating attitude with a challenge of his own. He would’ve thought that a bossy, arrogant personality like that would be a turn off for him; would have said as much if he’d been asked earlier that day. Yahaba was rearranging what he’d thought he’d known about his sexual preferences in only hours. It should’ve been alarming, but Kyoutani was still riding the high and more interested in what direction this was all headed now– Were they done fucking? Why had Yahaba even fallen into bed with him in the first place? Was it a one time only thing? Was this just a ploy to get him to switch sides?

He figured there was no point in running circles around the issue here. They both knew what game was being played and Kyoutani didn’t have the patience, or –frankly– the social skills, to pretend otherwise.

“Don’t think I’m about to switch sides because you’re a decent fuck.”

“Rude,” Yahaba replied primly, but didn’t bother to look up from whatever he was doing on his phone. Instead he took a careful drag off his cig, tucked the smoldering stub behind his ear and typed into his phone. At least he had the decency to blow the smoke to the side and away from Kyoutani. “If memory serves, you thought I was more than just decent a few minutes ago.”

“No amount of sex, decent or awesome, would be enough for me to suffer through Oikawa.”

Yahaba glanced up from his phone this time, if only to give Kyoutani A Look. A raised eyebrow, a small down turn of one side of his mouth, his chin raised to highlight the fact he was looking down his nose at Kyoutani. Usually the condescension would’ve pissed him right the fuck off, but this entire encounter had already gone twenty types of wrong, so he was only distantly horrified when that haughty look made his dick wake up and start paying attention again.

“If I was trying to work an angle you wouldn’t be able to tell,” Yahaba replied, stubbing the rest of his cig out on the sheets, the bedding already peppered in cigarette burns. “I pride myself on a little more finesse than that.”

Kyoutani wasn’t convinced, but lost that train of thought as he watched Yahaba stretch, eyes fixed on the way he arched his back in a very _un_ -subtle show. He hadn’t put the binder back on after they’d both come for the third time that night, only bothered to pull his thin undershirt back on. Kyoutani could faintly see his nipples through the semi-sheer fabric, remembered how much Yahaba had seemed to enjoy the rough attention there, how good they’d looked all pink and swollen, the soft little sounds Yahaba made every time he’d used his teeth. Wondered what Yahaba would do if Kyoutani rolled back over and gave them the same treatment again, this time through the shirt, getting the fabric wet, the drag against already sensitive skin probably–

Okay, what the hell?

Kyoutani was sort of concerned that even after a few orgasms he was more interested in dragging Yahaba back down and going for round four instead of, you know, carefully watching a rival gang member. Considering he’d found four separate blades on Yahaba when they were stripping each other down, as well as a compact ceramic handgun –a way to get around metal detectors– his safety definitely seemed a pressing concern. The afterglow would be a good chance for Yahaba to catch him off guard and get a little stabby.

But Yahaba just had that smug half-smile going, obviously knowing where Kyoutani’s attention had strayed, but he kept any comments to himself, instead continuing with the conversation.

“I’m supposed to be scouting for Mattsun-san, but I’m not about to do his job for him. Though I guess I can tell him he won’t be able to fuck you into changing sides.”

Kyoutani glared. “Why else would you sleep with the enemy then?”

“I like a good challenge, a little danger, and a handsome face.” He gave Kyoutani that sharp grin again, a flash off perfect white teeth. “Getting laid is a plus too.” Kyoutani didn’t bother to stop the unimpressed half grunt-half scoffing noise at Yahaba’s obnoxious tone. Kyoutani was hardly the only brute in their line of work, plenty of them more attractive than himself –ones whose noses weren’t crooked in three different places from too many breaks, who didn’t have permanent black circles under their eyes or hands so scared up it looked like they’d been made wrong and then poorly sewn back together.

The tall, violent, and over-all better looking Matsukawa was a prime example. Fucking a rival gang member made no sense when you had plenty of better options. Ones who were less likely to kill you. Kyoutani wasn’t going to let that excuse fly. “Face like your’s, you’d think you’d have your pick of guys.”

Yahaba shrugged, put his phone down on the bedside table, and rolled onto his side. Propped up on his elbow he finally gave Kyoutani his full attention. “Maybe so.”

For a beat they watched each other–  Kyoutani cautious, Yahaba studying. He must have seen some answer in Kyoutani’s face, because, to his surprise, Yahaba gives him an actual explanation. He held up the hand not holding his weight, the ink flowers wound around his forearm on display. “As I’m sure you know, plenty of people are put off by our particular lifestyle. Even less of those guys are gay. Then add on the whole– ” He gestured vaguely to his body, lips twisted in a wry smile, those soft brown eyes turning as hard and dark as charcoal. “ –and my options dwindle farther. Then out of that handful maybe _one_ of them might be to my taste.” He shrugged again.

Kyoutani wasn’t sure how much of that was lies or manipulation or what truths lay under the guise of deception, but the words were frank and cut straight to the core. Empty of the exaggerated shallowness, the teasing lilt, the needling snark that Yahaba seemed to wear like a second skin.

Maybe he was looking too far into it, getting a little too meta for a guy he’d only meet a few hours ago, most of that spent fucking.

Yahaba switched gears suddenly. The serious and somewhat uncomfortably personal mood evaporating when Yahaba leaned over, snaking his hand under the sheets, and Kyoutani, who’d been distracted by Yahaba looming over him, made a highly embarrassing noise. Two parts pleasure and one part shock as that hand made its way into his underwear, and took his cock in and expert hand, all at a speed Kyoutani was hard put to keep up with. When Yahaba dug his teeth into the thick muscle at the base of his neck, the bite just shy of breaking skin, Kyoutani figured, whatever, he could worry about the repercussions of fucking Yahaba until later. Like when he was done pulling at Yahaba’s hair, finished with getting his hands on every part of that soft, warm body –cupping his chest, raking his nails over hips and down unexpectedly muscled thighs. Once Yahaba had held him down and rode his cock. And oh God– that was a hell of an image. Watching an impatient and confident and devastating gorgeous Yahaba as he came undone above him. When he’d reached the limits of Yahaba’s stamina and just started finding the edges of his own.

Yeah, later sounded good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not Trans. I wrote based on my own limited knowledge of not only of the nature of sex with trans/non binary people, but just a general lack of experience in sex. Period. References to Yahabas' genitalia is very vague. If anything is offensive let me know. I'm more then willing to make changes. Like, I'm not sure if calling Yahaba pretty boy is squicky or not, but well, in my mind, au Yahaba is comfortable with it.
> 
> Originally I wanted to make Kyoutani trans, instead it ended up being Yahaba. So it goes.


	2. Yahaba: Elevate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yahaba enjoys his conquest and is a plotting plotter who plots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be a oneshot.... hahahahahaha. 
> 
> I have a problem with world building. So the stuff in italicized parentheses is skip-able if you're just here for the KyouHaba action.
> 
> Warnings:  
> mentions/light asphyxiation kink, praise kink, D/S undertones, could be seen as under-negotiated kink, mentioned past body dysphoria.  
> references to violence and injury levels you'd expect of mobs or Yakuza, but no on-screen action. Mentions of non-specific burns and abuse.

Yahaba arrives for his and Watari’s weekly meeting early, his newest guard of the month is trailing him. The Seijoh’s Knight is clean, modern, darkly lit, and other than the employees, no one knows who he is. It’s the perk of coming all the way out to less savory area of downtown, where the lines between Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s turf blurs, instead of heart of Oikawa’s domain in uptown. But the place is so heavily guarded that even the wait staff is trained to defend and protect.

The place lacks the usual glitz and glamor that Oikawa’s other businesses exhibit, like the nightclub and gambling house Blue Castle that Oikawa and Mattsun tag-team up in the poshest part of town. A place where everyone knows everyone, and he would be met with poisonous smiles, flashes faces, barbed words, and backhanded compliments. It’s a game he’s learned to love. Something that, with the right training, he’s come to excel at winning. Enough that he’d caught the attention of Oikawa. Enough he’d been made third-in-command despite his age and newness to this particular line of work.

Seijoh’s Knights is a world apart from the powerful and uppercrust clientele of Blue Castle, but that’s not the kind of atmosphere he’s looking for tonight anyways. He wants somewhere private, away from prying eyes and curious ears, and that’s what this place is. For all his love of glamour and high stakes games, he wants the comfort and safety Seijoh’s Knights lends itself to, and reason why he puts the effort into this trek from his uptown apartment. Not every week though. Routine makes you predictable. Predictability gets you killed.

To his pleasure, Yukio’s working as hostess. A beauty, ex-escort, and old friend who has all the regulars here swooning. 

( _ She just treats them all to her prettiest laugh and says there’s already a special someone in her life. Yahaba knows that special person isn’t a man, but actually her three year old son she’s raising on her own. Being a woman in their line of work is hard enough without a kid in the picture. When he’d started working his way up the ranks with Oikawa he’d made sure to get her a decent job with someone he trusted. _

_ He honestly respects her more then most of the people he works with. The first guy who refused to take her ‘no’ for an answer Yahaba had made an example of. After all, if the guy couldn’t keep his hands to himself, then maybe he didn’t deserve hands. _ )

Yukio smiles and flirts as she greets him and he plays his part as the suave ladies man –their usual repertoire– while she leads him to the VIP booth at the rear of the restaurant. 

“What can I get you tonight handsome?” she asks. Her hip rests on the table, making the tight red fabric of her dress cling to her generous curves in all the right ways. Yahaba’s not even interested in women and he still finds it distracting. She might not be working up at Blue Castle, but Yukio still knows how to play the game like a pro.

He looks away from her hips to meet her eyes before replying. “Just the usual sweetheart.”

She treats him to a dazzling smile. “You got it, and I’ll let the boss know your here.”

“You always know just what a man wants,” he teases. Yukios’ answering grin this time is less a show of charm and more an appreciation of the respect Yahaba hides behind his words in their duet performance. “Oh honey, that’s old news.”

She gives him a parting wink and heads to the backroom to pull Watari away from gathering intel. 

( _ her hips swaying in a show that has most of the men in the room following her with their eyes. Yahaba shakes his head. He wonders how many of those men are aware they’re being played _ )

He’s already a third of the way through his first drink when Watari finally designs to grace him with his presence. 

“Sorry,” he says by way of greeting, taking the seat across from him. “There was a man from Sendai with quite a few interesting things to tell me about Shiratorizawa once give proper incentive.”  Watari almost certainly means after he’d plied the man with enough drinks on the house to loosen the man's tongue. 

“Hmm,” Yahaba hums noncommittally, choosing instead to wave his guard off, out of hearing range, while watching the waiter approaching their table. The man looking for Watari’s okay to approach before setting a drink in front of his boss and then hightailing it out as quickly as possible. Probably new meat, Yahaba thinks, still intimidated by the idea of serving the mob.

“Anyways, that can wait till later,” Watari says after taking a good gulp of his drink for appearances sake. ( _ It’s a decoy of course, really some non-alcoholic beverage. Watari never drinks. _ ) He settles in and gives Yahaba his full attention. “First, tell me all the new gossip.”

“Well, yesterday I was talking to Kindaich who overheard–”  

As the resident intel man, Watari’s staunchly unintimidated by Yahaba’s chattering– whether it’s about new rumors, interrogation methods, Yahaba’s transitioning and sex life, or just tossing around ideas for a new project to set in motion. A fact Yahaba’s more grateful for then he’ll ever be able to say. In a world surrounded by super-manly manly-men with their fragile egos, it’s nice to have one straight guy in the workplace he’s comfortable around. Someone he can be more himself with.

After depleting his reposit of rumours, chatter, and the movement of other rival groups he’d gathered since last they met up, Yahaba gets to his newest, and most favorite, topic.

“He’s so delightfully rude.” Yahaba says, downing the last dregs of his drink. He gives Watari the respect of letting his normal pretense fall away in the privacy of their booth, lets his smug satisfaction come to the surface in his voice. It’s not like Watari’s blinks an eye at his twisted tastes anymore.

“Rude is an understatement,” Watari replies with good humor. “A deathwish is more accurate. I have it from one of my sources that his first reaction to Ushiwaka was that he looked like, and I quote ‘ _ the kind of idiot who reads all the ads in magazines _ ’, in the hearing of Ushiwaka’s underlings by the way.”

“He’s a simpleton with minimal social skills,” Yahaba concurs. “It’s part of his charm, but he’s really only useful for two things– his hand-to-hand skill and a good lay. Honestly, I’m not really sure what Oikawa-san sees in Kyoutani-kun because as far as I know we aren’t in the market for another powerhouse and I don’t see Kyoutani-kun making a very good escort or host.” 

“Oikawa-senpai never does anything without a good reason,” Watari says sagely. “Same as you. Which is why I have to ask, is it really a good idea to be screwing around with someone with his kind of reputation?” 

A mad dog. A feral mutt. A no-brains-all-brawns brute with so many jagged edges you can’t get close without damage. Watari doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to.

Yahaba purses his lips in a hard line– Watari might be up for hearing all about his misadventures, but there’s also this unspoken, yet plain disapproval of Yahaba’s current fling that still makes subtle appearances every so often– then relaxes his face back to it’s normal indifference.

“And I might ask if it’s really a good idea to quit college and become a gangster,” Yahaba replies nonchalantly. “No, but you did it anyways.” Watari raises his hands in a silent acknowledgement of surrender, he doesn’t look put out by the cheap shot at his mobster origins. 

Yahaba promises himself (for the thousandth time) that someday he’ll finally provoke a real reaction out of his friend. 

However, now that Watari’s gotten his token protest out of the way, Yahaba’s more interested in continuing to gush. “And I wouldn’t call what we do ‘fucking around’ either. There’s no ‘around’ about anything with a guy like him. It’s all-or-nothing. In this instance, he’s solidly in the ‘all’ category and I am so about it. It requires like, olympic levels of endurance. He actually wore me out–  _ me _ . I didn’t think that was even possible.”

Watari raises his brows. “Wow, scary to think. Never would've believed someone existed with an even higher sex drive than you.” 

Yahaba grins, the borderline salacious one he picked up from Oikawa, and flags down the waiter and orders another round. The conversation’s put on pause while they wait for it to be served. After they receive their drinks and the waiter is out of hearing Yahaba picks up again. 

“I figured he’d balk at the differences,” Yahaba gestures vaguely at himself, and Watari nods sympathetically. “Because, let’s be real, they all do. But not him. Oh man, he just went for it and lemme tell you, he’s a hell of a quick study when he puts his mind to it. I swear he’s got some kind of personal challenge and the goal seems to be getting me off as many times as he can before he wears me out.”

“Gee, a ring fighters with a competitive streak. Who would've seen that coming.” Watari teases, making Yahaba roll his eyes. 

“Well, if there’s something a guy’s going to get competitive over, how many times he can get me off isn’t something you’ll find me complaining about. The alternative could be a fixation on my body,” Yahaba grimaces, shoving back less than pleasant memories of past partners.

“Or,” Yahaba adds. “He could be fiercely resistant to domination inside the bedroom as much as he is outside it.” 

“I have a hard time seeing a guy who has the balls to call Mattsun-san a sadistic, dickless pervert after having three of his fingers broken as a pushover in any part of his life.” 

Watari’s reminder of Kyoutani’s complete lack of self preservation has Yahaba’s lip quirking up in the corner. Absolutely adorable and so incredibly stupid. 

Watari’s skepticism is well founded, but Yahaba knows better. He’s read and annotated Kyoutani’s profile, watched him from a distance before making the approach. Watari might be Oikawa’s eyes and ears, but Yahaba has the intuition to piece together and act on that information. 

“You honestly telling me he doesn’t have any fight in him?” Watari asks insistently.

Yahaba scoffs. “God, no. Where’s the fun if I don’t have to work for it? Getting him to submit is half the fun. The best part is how surprised he is when he finally yields, like he’s forgotten since the last time how much he enjoys giving it up to me. And the power trip is just– ” He gives a pleased hum, lets himself remember how good Kyoutani had looked last time. Those hard, defined arms straining as he clutched desperately at the sheets because Yahaba had ordered him not to touch. And Kyoutani had listened. So obviously loving the denial, the restraint in letting Yahaba take his pleasure the way he wanted. 

Most rewarding of all were the desperate sounds Kyoutani had made when Yahaba cupped a hand around his throat with just a whisper of pressure behind it. A gutteral shout of pleasure, muffled slightly as it caught somewhere in his lungs, then the powerful thrusting of those hip turning jerky and discourdantate. And for all that Kyoutani had been the one inside him it felt like Kyoutani was the one getting fucked. 

He isn’t sure he can find the right way around the words to fully impart the intense sense of power and addictive pleasure he finds in Kyoutani’s body, but he tries anyway. “Taking a mad dog like him and  _ making _ him submit– God, just thinking about it...” He wonders how Kyoutani would react if next time Yahaba got both his hands around that thick neck and actually squeezed, not just a light, teasing,  _ maybe _ of pressure. 

“Not to mention his dick is like, basically perfect, the way it–”

“Okay, TMI,” Watari overrides him, making the ‘timeout’ sign with his hands. “I draw the line at his dick.” 

“Fine, be boring,” Yahaba says with a flippant scoff, but he doesn’t mind. Watari does the same for him in reverse. If Watari’s curious, he’ll ask, if Yahaba tells him it’s inappropriate or rude, Watari will respect it. So if Watari draws the line at dicks, then Yahaba’s going to give him the same respect.

“You realize that Oikawa-senpai is going to tap you soon now that Mattsun-san’s plan washed out,” Watari points out. Yahaba hums an affirmative. “And since it seems like the incentive of getting righteously fucked is off the table, you want me to help you hash out a plan for getting Kyoutani to flip sides?”

“I’m hurt Watachi– Truly hurt.” Yahaba says with absolutely no feeling behind the otherwise dramatic words, and though it’s only a flicker, he catches the beat of time where Watari grimaces at Oikawa’s pet nickname. “That you would think I haven’t already set a plan into motion; it’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Right, you’ll have to forgive me for not seeing the masterplan behind screwing Iwaizumi’s attack dog.” 

“Oh, that’s not part of the plan.” Yahaba waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, no no no –that’s just a perk. Possibly helpful, but not necessary for the end goal.” 

Watari’s face morphs into something like horrified recognition. “Oh no. No, no, no. I know that look. I don’t like that look. That look means all sorts of trouble.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re referring to,” Yahaba says primly, not bothering to mask the exact look Watari’s talking about. “That’s just how my face is. Are you saying you don’t like my face?”

“You know there’s a rumor going around in the Iron Wall’s circle that your possessed by an evil spirit, who’s hiding in the body of a twenty-something year old who looks like the kind of guy any parent would be happy for their daughter to bring home.” Watari shakes his head, slumping in his seat slightly. “I’m beginning to see the merit in that.”

“You flatter me,” Yahaba says sweetly. “What do they call Oikawa-san if they think I’m an evil spirit?”

“Oh, they just think he’s the straight up devil.”

Yahaba nods. “That’s fair.”

“At least tell me this plan is Oikawa-approved.” There’s a note of pleading in his voice.

“More or less.”

Watari sighs. A heavy, nearly mournful sound of enduring resignation. A sigh of the longsuffering. The sigh of a fatalist. Yahaba almost feels bad for him. 

Almost.

“Meaning, there's more and you told him less.”

“I said what I meant.” Yahaba says flippantly. “So, you in?”

“If only to keep you out of trouble,” Watari concedes. 

“Perfect,” Yahaba claps his hands together. “Let’s get you caught up.” 

 

– – – 

 

He and Kyoutani aren’t on a schedule exactly. It’s just that Kyoutani’s painfully predictable. It didn’t take much to figure out his routine. Friday, Saturday, Sunday he watches Iwaizumi’s back, extra protection for the weekend alongside his usual bodyguards. If Iwaizumi visits one of the fighting rings during that time he’ll let Kyoutani go a round in a wrestling match. Mondays and Thursdays he does boring, normal life things and trains or rests up during the day before spending the evenings making rounds of the gambling parlors, hot beds, clubs, hotels, ect. Once a month he’ll deviate, visit a friend outside the city whose unaffiliated with any group. Tuesday is his fight night. Iwaizumi lets him off the leash and he sniffs out a fight ring like he’s got a trained nose for the smell of sweat and blood and too many bodies packed together. Depending on how many good hits his opponents manage to sneak in the day before, he’ll go again on Wednesday and pound some more faces in.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Yahaba has to be careful tracking down his prey. Cornering Kyoutani after a fight night is the easiest place to pin him down. Not to mention a good fight leaves Kyoutani with extra intensity and adrenaline to burn. Yahaba’s more than agreeable to being the focus for all that energy, but picking up Kyoutani at the same events makes Yahaba an easier mark to follow. 

The real trick is tracking him down in neutral territory or keeping a low enough profile to escape alert. The latter is a risky game to play. A personal guard following him would make him stand out, so would his driver. Taking his favorite knives along would set off the metal detectors scans Iwaizumi almost certainly requires of all who patronize his businesses. 

( _ Sure, he has his piece, but it’s just not the same. A knife gives him the advantage in close quarters to balance out his smaller stature. Theoretically he could hide one of his thin, needle like knives inside his binder, but simply setting off the alarm would attract attention –make him memorable. _ ) 

He’s never been one to turn down a challenge though. Yahaba’s become a sucker for the thrill of high stakes games. A little too in love with danger. 

And danger is the name of the game when he slips inside a dive bar that rests firmly on the border of Iwaizumi’s east-side territory. He’s cloaked himself in the guise of femininity for the venture –( _ Loose cropped sweater to fight the evening chill and hide the fact he’s still wearing a half length binder, teasing just a flash of skin at the waist where his high-waist jeans start, jeans so tight that might as well be a second skin. Light makeup expertly applied to soften the features a few years of hormone therapy had sharpened. He doesn’t enjoy it, and while he usually loves an appreciative look or light leering, he hasn’t been able to enjoy the sensation of presenting more fem since fully transitioning. This is as much as he’s comfortable with, enough to make him more androgynous, but not give him any body dysphoria. Never a skirt. Never a dress. Never heels. Never again. _ )– all a means to an end. 

The bouncers do a quick check of his faked ID, give him a brief once over with a hand held metal detector, and he’s in. The air inside is thick with the stagnant smell of beer and cigarette smoke, a smell he barely even registers anymore. He makes his way to the bar, parking himself in a corner with decent sight lines before ordering a drink. 

The bartender passes him his drink, quick and efficient, and moves on to the next. Yahaba swirls the liquid with a finger in an imitation of idleness, lazily taking in the bar itself. When the clear coat of polish on his nail doesn’t turn pink from the drink he deems no one slipped him anything and it’s safe. Well, as safe as alcohol ever is. 

The place is alive with people, a busy night, he thinks, taking a sip. Groups made up predominantly of men stand in packs around bar tables. Their voices echo loud and brassy as they shout at each other over the baseball game playing on a surprisingly large and nice tv. There’s only three women unattached from a particular group. Two look like the usual lower grade escorts you find in these kinds of places. The third looks too normal. Maybe a mob wife waiting on her husband, but Yahaba think it’s a better chance she’s a plant intended to attract single men who like the boost of sleeping with people they don’t have to pay for the pleasure. She’ll ply her unwitting target for information around flirtation and then like as not, leave him with a case of blue balls.

He passes the time by splitting his attention between the game, judging who here is affiliated versus civilian, and confirming his suspicions over the girl– watching a couple guys strike out with the plant as she deems they’ve nothing of interest for whoever’s hired her services.

Just when he’s about to write the night off as unsuccessful he catches the stirring of Kyoutani’s arrival. Even the two men flanking his objective of the night do little to discourage him. It’s even odds that Kyoutani will dismiss the two– a bet he wins. The two men take up posts on either side of the entrance, watching the comings and goings. 

Kyoutani catches sight of him almost immediately, faster than Yahaba would’ve given the guy credit for. He looks uncertain at first, until Yahaba blesses him with his signature smile, wiggling his fingers in a mock wave, and Kyoutani’s face lights up with recognition right before his eyebrow plunge downward into a scowly frown– one most people likely find menacing, but he only sees as endearing. Yahaba gives a little sideways jerk of his head to indicate that Kyoutani should come join him. 

He doesn’t wait on a response. Instead he turns away to hail the bartender. He can feel the hum of anticipation under his skin as he waits. Kyoutani doesn’t disappoint. He feels the man’s presence come up behind him just as he’s ordering.

“And one for my friend here,” He tells the bartender, jerking his thumb backwards, and only then does he look over his shoulder to acknowledge Kyoutani with a coy smile. “Pick your poison sweetheart. This one's on me.”

“How are you even here?” Kyoutani demands in a growl. Apparently stuck in prickly mode. Yahaba sighs– seems they’re cutting straight to the chase already.

Finishing with the bartender, he turns round to lean against the bar, giving Kyoutani the full brunt of his attention. In turn, Kyoutani’s glowering down at him. It’s an impressive trick, since he’s actually shorter than Yahaba. Kyoutani takes a moment to look him up and down before he drops the cranky look to wrinkle his nose. “Why are you dressed like–” Kyoutani gestures vaguely at him “–that?”

“How else do you think I got in,” he points out blandly with a little shrug. Immediately he switches gears to flutterer his eyelashes, all coyness and smile. He leans into Kyoutani, hooking two fingers in the belt loop at Kyoutani’s hip. “What, don’t you think I’m pretty?”

Kyoutani’s face morphs from incredulous to that wrinkled-nose expression again. “I’m not into fem guys.”

“Hmm, is that so,” Yahaba teases, using his hold to tug Kyoutani in closer, grinning when Kyoutani lets himself be led, arms coming up on either side of Yahaba to cage him in. Like Yahaba was going anywhere. Like Kyoutani isn’t the one trapped in his game. “I might believe it. Except for the part where you call me pretty boy.”

Of course that’s when the bartender returns, setting their drinks down on the formica counter with an audible clinking. Yahaba makes a face as Kyoutani pulls away, made awkward and newly aware of just how they must of looked. He watches a wary Kyoutani check his sight lines, though he’s not sure why Kyoutani cares about other seeing him like this. It’s not like his sexual orientation is a secret, or know who he’s flirting with. 

Still, Yahaba gets the feeling that if he doesn’t play this next part right he’ll be coming up snake eyes on this venture. 

He sighs gustily and turns to address his unwanted interloper, pays his tab, tips generously, and gives the bartender a chilly smile in parting. 

Message received. Yahaba doesn’t see the bartender again.

He carefully dips first one finger, then the other into each drinks. His nails don’t change so he offers one to Kyoutani. “It’s clean,” he says flatly, but Kyoutani still hesitates. “It took some work for me to make this meeting happen, so before you turn tail and run the least you can do is take a shot with me.”

Kyoutani squints at him, like he’s trying to decide if he should be offended. No, more like he only understands half of what Yahaba’s saying, trying to figure the other half out from context. 

In the end, Kyoutani takes the proffered drink and steps up to stand at the counter next to him. Not close enough for their arms to touch, but not too far off from it either. 

Kyoutani’s still watching him like a particularly difficult math problem when he raises his glass. “Cheers, or whatever.” 

Yahaba has to press his lips together to keep from smiling. “Or whatever,” he echoes once his face no longer threatens to betray him. Clinking their glasses together, they toss back their shots, eerily in synch. 

He stack their empty glasses together, using the motion as an excuses to lean into Kyoutani’s side. He can feel the man’s little huff of amusement when Yahaba doesn’t immediately pull away again. Kyoutani turns his head, and Yahaba can feel lips just shy of the top of his ear. “You’re seriously not subtle.” Kyoutani rumbles out.

“Not trying to be, go right over your head anyways” he replies conversationally, despite the way those words spoken into his skin send a pleasant chill down his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “But I figured it’d be a little too straight forward, even for you, if I just asked you to fuck me right here.” He takes great satisfaction in the way Kyoutani sucks in a sharp breath at that, can hear him lick his lips, feel the heat of his exhalation and what might be a muttered  _ ‘jesus christ’ _ .

“Hmm, maybe not too much,” Yahaba says, tilting his head so he can give Kyoutani the side eye through his lashes.

Kyoutani pulls back to eye him again. An arm finds its way around Yahaba’s waist until a large, warm hand rests hesitantly against the exposed skin between his sweater and jeans. He takes the moment to give Kyoutani that special cheshire cat smile –the one that’d hooked Kyoutani the first time they met– and waits for him to accept or reject his offer.

It takes way longer than it should for a response to a pretty simple question –yes sex, no sex– and when he gets a response it’s not even a real answer either, but a halfway question managing to escape as Kyoutani chews on his bottom lip. “Let’s take this somewhere else?” 

Honestly, Yahaba’s not sure how more of a green light he can give than stalking Kyoutani at work and literally asking him to fuck. Maybe it’s that this thing between them isn’t going by the usual playbook. Every other time they’ve meet up things follow a similar pattern. Yahaba needles him, taunts and teases until Kyoutani’s on the verge of violence, which inexplicably leads to them getting a little R-rated in a semi-public place. Usually they manage to keep it together until they relocate somewhere private before things start falling into to the area of ‘public indecency’. Although once or twice they’ve ended up going a round when smart decision making skills failed in the face of impending orgasam, like their oh-so romantic first meeting in the mens bathroom. 

This casual, almost  _ normal _ flirtation they have going tonight is a pretty noteable deviance from that. He considers the idea of being more assertive, enough for Kyoutani to register it as similar to their usual aggressive play. 

But he’s stumbled upon a newly discovered weakness for blunt admissions of desire. They’d never tried dirty talk during sex before, usually too busy tearing into one another to find the air for it. A plan snaps together quickly from there. Maybe if he palms Kyoutani through his jeans and tells him in vivid detail  _ exactly _ what he wants to do to Kyoutani, it’ll get him to skip the bullshit.

It’s been a long time since he was wrong about people, and now isn’t an exception. So when he leans in at just right to block any wandering eyes, massages Kyoutani’s dick with slow hands and firm touches, whatever mental roadblock that existed crumbles. Yahaba doesn’t even get past whispering ‘ _ I swear to God, if you don’t– _ ” into Kyoutani’s ear before the man’s hauling him out of the bar and into the night.      

Normally Yahaba loves that challenge of getting Kyoutani to yield to him, the slow yielding to desire. Yahaba had waited while he planned. Waited while he sat at the bar. Waited as he worked to mitigate interruptions that could’ve torpedoed his night. He’d waited for Kyoutani to work up to taking what was freely given, and so obviously wanted. Waited for Kyoutani to submit to his own desire. 

When they’re finally,  _ finally _ , alone Yahaba decides he’s done with waiting.

“Take the jacket off and get on the bed,” he orders as soon as he shuts the door to their. 

There’s no lingering hesitation in Kyoutani now, only obedience as he sits on the edge of the bed, and that’s how Yahaba knows for sure that he’s got Kyoutani’s under his thumb. He’s got a plan for the night, rather spontaneous but the payoff looks too enticing to pass up. 

With a smug smile Yahaba takes his position in the single arm chair to take in the sight Kyoutani makes. He looks so lovely all wound-up like this; bright eyed and pink cheeked with anticipation, breathing harder than a quick walk to the nearest love hotel really warrants. One of his legs bounces restlessly and there’s evident tension in his arms, now visible with the removal of his jacket. Not to mention the prominent bulge of his dick straining against his jeans. That’s probably starting to get hard for Kyoutani to ignore.

“Poor baby, all cooped up.” Yahaba can’t stop himself from saying, almost coos really, sarchani in his sweetness. “I bet it’s starting to hurt.” Kyoutani doesn’t say anything, only swallows hard and gives the barest nod of assent. “Why don’t you get that cock out for me then.” 

Kyoutani starts fumbling with the zip of his pants, but he stop and looks up when Yahaba gives a disappointed click of his tongue. “Too fast,” he reprimands. “Slow, so I can see exactly what I do to you. Want to watch you loose it for me Kyoutani-kun.”

“God,” Kyoutani rasps, already sounding wrecked and they’ve only just started. To Yahaba’s delight he returns to opening his jeans at a more sedate pace, shucking them and his boxers down enough to get his dick free. 

Kyoutani’s cock is nice and thick, and uncut, which is always fun. It’s big enough to make him feel wonderfully full (but not so big taking it to the hilt means it’s jamming into his cervix). Just like Yahaba had hoped he’s already fully hard, the fat head of his cock swollen, red and already slick with pre-cum and god, he seriously loves Kyoutani’s dick.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re so wet already,” He says, and watching the way Kyoutani’s dick twitches at the praise is incredibly rewarding, a bead of pre-cum beading at the head dribbling down the length of him. He’s also definitely not the only one already wet. Yahaba’s can feel himself starting to muck up his underwear with how worked up he’s gotten, taking a special kind of joy in having talked Kyoutani to full hardness, and honestly surprised by how much it all appeals to him.

“Touch yourself,” He commands, and Kyoutani lets go of his death grip on the sheet to wrap a hand around himself, and sweet little thing that he is, he doesn’t try to jerk off hard and fast, but strokes himself so nice and slow and easy without being told to. Exactly how Yahaba wanted him to. “That’s right, just like that.”

He watches Kyoutani, appreciates the view. Takes in the way Kyoutani’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and how he can watch the way Kyoutani’s abs move –tense, relax, tense again– with the way his shirt clings to his stomach, before settling on Kyoutani’s hands. Specifically, the one he’s using to work himself. 

Yahaba’s noticed before, the way his hand is marred by scars, full of stories. There’s pink marks from how many times he must have busted his knuckles open over the years, scabbed over so many times.  A smattering of white lines, near invisible except in direct light. He must have broken a mirror or a window to get those particular marks. Circular shaped cigarette burns, one layered over the other, litter the back of his hand. Given that Kyoutani’s not left handed, Yahaba’s willing to bet those burns aren’t self inflicted. 

He’s wanted to ask about that for a while now.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he says instead, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. “I bet I could make you cum like this, just by talking.” And wow, that’s a hell of an image. He’s saving that idea for later.

“Bet you’d like that,” he continues. “Showing me how good you are, letting me see  _ exactly _ what I do to you.” 

“Fuck ’n pervert,” is all Kyoutani manages to grit out in response, pressing his face into his shoulder, eyes almost all the way closed– like he can’t handle the sight of Yahaba watching him, but at the same time he can’t tear his eyes away either. His hand starts to speed up over his cock just the slightest bit, and he’s twisting his wrists on the upstroke more. 

Yahaba doesn’t call him on it. He’s more interested in the challenge Kyoutani issued. 

“What does that make you,” Yahaba admonishes, “because as far as I can tell, you’re absolutely loving this. I mean, if you could see yourself right now–” he outright leers at Kyoutani. “–spread out like a slut, all because I asked you to.”

“Holy shit.” Kyoutani pants, sloppy and opened mouthed, too fucked up for this game to keep up with the insults. His eyes are all glazed over, like Yahabas’ words sent him into shock. It’s a good look on him, really good, but Yahaba’s starting to get tired of just watching. 

Yahaba leans back in his chair again, crosses his legs at the ankle, trying to look casual and not like he wants to jump Kyoutani, push him down on the bed, and just  _ use _ him. “You’ve been so, so good Kyoutani-kun. Knew you’d be sweet for me.” Yahaba reaches out, runs his fingers through the buzzed sides of Kyoutani’s hair with gentle, barely there touches, meant to torture him further. “Absolutely perfect.” He lays the praise on thick, hopes to short out Kyoutani’s brain enough to get an honest response. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me, what do you want Kyoutani-kun?”

“Want to fuck you,” Kyoutani growls, his hand stopping it’s stroking to squeeze the base of his cock. “God, need to be  _ in _ you.” 

Yahaba smiles– Bingo. “And how do you want me. On my back, on top, or maybe you want me on my hands and knees for you.”

“Fuck, anything, the last one. I don’t care. Just, please–” 

Yahaba uncrosses his ankles then, spreads his legs, and crooks an inviting finger.

“Come and get me then.” 

Kyoutani surges off the bed the moment the words are out, getting his hands on the zip of Yahaba’s pants open and yanks them down, urging Yahaba to arch so he can pull them all the way off, his socks included. “Top?” Kyoutani asks. Yahaba’s answer is to pull his sweater over his head and reach back for the zip on his binder.

“Trade for yours.” He’s not ready for being totally topless yet, not after having to fem it up earlier. Kyoutani pulls his shirt off one handed and leaves it on the arm of the chair.

( _ They’d had a full conversation after the third time they’d hooked up, or more correctly, after an awkward and aborted  _ attempt  _ the third time they met up. Yahaba sat Kyoutani down and had The Talk– preferred terms, squicks, kinks, general safety rules, and what was off the table, full stop. It was a lot more of Yahaba talking, as Kyoutani’s only known issues were that he wasn’t a fan of kissing after oral and didn’t bottom. _ )

“Condom?” Kyoutani asks.

“Left back pocket,” Yahaba says, sighing at the release of pressure on his lungs and quickly pulls Kyoutani’s shirt on. Kyoutani’s rolling on the rubber, hissing at the contact after a period of neglect. Then he kneels down, hitching Yahaba’s legs over his shoulders, rising slightly to line himself up with Yahaba. Apparently Kyoutani can’t be bothered to move to the bed, only a few feet away. 

“Slow,” Yahaba commands when he feels Kyoutani rub the swollen head at his entrance. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

“Shit,” Kyoutani grunts, starting to feed Yahaba his cock inch by tortuous inch, and then again, hissed between his clenched teeth, “ _ Shit. _ ” 

Yahaba can feel the arm Kyoutani’s using to brace himself start to shake slightly. “You feel that,” Yahaba asks, trying to keep the breathiness out of his voice, with only slight success. “Feel me taking you? That’s what you want, right? To give up everything to me– your control, your aggression, your cock. All of you.”

The noise Kyoutani makes is almost inhuman and the words he does manage are nothing more than a hoarse groan. “Jesus, the fuck are you doing to me?” He manages to gasp out.

“Letting you have everything you never knew you wanted,” He boasts even as his head tips back at the intensity of sensation. 

Yahaba’s take off guard by just how much he’s enjoying not only the satisfaction of domination and restraint, but the pleasure he finds in the languid pace. It’s different, so different, then what Yahaba’s used to. His previous preference had always been hard, ferocious, and brutal. Pressing over the edge of pleasure into a kind of pain that’s its own searing brand of delicious. It came with the territory in his old line of work. But this… he’s going to have to reassess. 

Later though. He doesn’t have enough brain space right now.

Kyoutani buries his face in Yahaba’s shoulder, who lets his eyes fall closed. The darkness giving way to the full spectrum of sensations. He can feel more intently the slow stretch of his body accommodating Kyoutani. Every little twitch or clench or throb of movement inside him, the greater awareness of how full he feels. The heat of breath against his skin, the scratch of stubble. The sound of Kyoutani’s breathing, louder than any of the other noises he’s trying to hold back– more than a curses, less than a whisper of sound but hard edged, as he finally,  _ finally _ , seats himself fully inside, and Yahaba can’t help but squirm on Kyoutani’s cock, needing a way to vent the knot of arousal that’s coiling quicker and tighter and almost too much.

“Quit it,” Kyoutani grits out, both hands digging into his hips hard now, trying to still his movements. He’d been quiet for so long, the demand startles Yahaba. Has him blinking his eyes open, can focus in on Kyoutani’s face now that it’s no longer tucked into his shoulder. Those narrow, dark eyes screwed shut, trying to even out his breathing, trying not to topple over the edge.

There’s something in watching Kyoutani’s restraint fray, the way Kyoutani just looks so painfully gone for him, that lights a fire in the darkest, depraved parts of him. And as much as Yahaba was enjoying slow moments ago, they can try it another time, because Yahaba needs to get off– right the fuck now.

Yahaba wraps his legs around Kyoutani’s hips, and using what little leverage he has, shoves himself back on Kyoutani’s cock. Like he could get any farther then buried balls deep in him, but the motion grinds them together and Kyoutani makes a noise like he’s been punched.

“Give it to me.” –it’s Yahaba’s turn to gasp– “Don’t hold back.”

In spite of mounting desperation, Kyoutani manages to grin, wide and wild, before taking a firmer grip on Yahaba’s hips. 

“Fuck’n finally.” 

It’s the last coherent words either of them make until Yahaba’s coming with a sharp whine, clawing at Kyoutani’s back “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Kyoutani, fuck” and a last broken cry of “ _ Fuck! _ ” as Kyoutani rides him through climax. He leans down, bites hard into Yahaba’s shoulder, right to the white-hot core of pain, sends bright sparks of feeling skittering through Yahaba, who’s pretty sure he’s leaving nail marks all over Kyoutani’s back.

When he collapses back, wrung out and basking in the warm glow of gratification, he reaches out and cards his fingers through Kyoutani’s hair. The action is oddly gentle considering things, but it feels right. Natural.

“Keep going.” Yahaba tells him.

The noise Kyoutani makes at the order is almost a sob. Hips having lost any semblance of rhythm a while ago, and Kyoutani thrusts are jagged, just chasing his end with the brutal force of a natural disaster and Yahaba can’t get enough of him like this. There’s a traitorous and concerning part of him whispering ‘ _ Mine, you’re mine and only I’m allowed to take this from you _ .”

Yahaba reaches a hand up, lets his fingers trace over Kyoutani’s throat in a silent question.

“Yes,” is the hissed answer. So Yahaba wraps a hand around his neck, squeezes this time, but gently. It’s only enough to give a taste, but not enough to push the boundaries into the realm of uncertainty, not without pre negotiation.

“Harder,” Kyoutani breathes out, and he sounds so gorgeous like this, so enraptured in what Yahaba’s doing for him. If he had anything less than iron self control he would have given in.

He leans up so he can press an apologetic kiss to Kyoutani’s temple. “Not this time sweetheart. But soon.”

When Kyoutani comes his thrusts jerk to a stop, instead he grinds himself as deeply into Yahaba as he can get, eyes screwed shut, trying to hold back any sound.

“No, let me hear you,” Yahaba coos.

This time Kyoutani really does sob. Buries his head in the crook of Yahaba’s neck, the side he’d bitten to the blood, and shakes apart for him so beautifully.

“Good boy,” Yahaba whispers into Kyoutani’s ear, and he can feel Kyoutani’s dick give one last twitch, the way he shudders at the praise, wringing the last bit of pleasure from him. 

Yahaba hums, a small sound of smug satisfaction, as he pets Kyoutani’s hair absentmindedly.

He’s starting to see it now. Past the tip of this particularly hostile iceberg. Kyoutani might be rough and intimidating on the surface, but there’s more to it. Even his nickname, Mad Dog, hints to a part of Kyoutani that’s loyal, eager to please. Perhaps a little needy for attention and a scratch behind the ears.

_ Things just get more interesting all the time _ , he thinks, smiling that special smile of his.

 

Extra-

 

"What the fuck!" Yahaba shouts from the bathroom. He's at the mirror, been about to wash his hands, when he caught site of the mark left by Kyoutani on his shoulder. It's a vivid purple mark, at least the size of his fist, the edges a sickly sunset of green and yellow. He can also see the bite that had scabbed over, some dried blood flaking away from the skin. Yahaba stomps back into the hotel room and gestures violently at the mark. "Look what you did asshole!"

Kyoutani looks unconcerned, only shrugs. "You liked it."

Yahaba sputters, because, okay, yes he did, but that's not the point. It's the principle of the matter.

"Besides,' Kyoutani says. "You've scratched up my back enough times."

Yahaba doesn't dignify that with an answer, just stomps back into the bathroom to shower off the cloying smell of sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early valentines day? Have some violent, non-romantic, possibly unhealthy, NSA relationship to celebrate?
> 
> I think I might add more. IDK yet.


	3. What's Up Danger?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoutani realizes that, between the two of them, it's him that's getting screwed.  
> or  
> Yahaba uses confuse. Kyoutani is now confused. Kyoutani uses Introspection. Kyoutani hurts himself in his confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I'm surprised I've gotten any response to this fic at all.
> 
> I think there's a plot now? IDK, but there's a firm ending now at least.  
> Either way, I doubt you're here for the plot, so... Cheers! Have some KyouHaba. 
> 
> Here's the newest set of warning tags:  
> D/s overtones, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, brief discussion of sub space, setting broken bones, IwaOi is you squint  
> I think that's about it.

The repercussions of fucking Yahaba weren’t exactly what he’d expected. Hanamaki snitched to Iwaizumi of course, and while that was embarrassing as hell, he couldn’t exactly blame Hanamaki either. Keeping Iwaizumi in the loop about enemy movement was Hanamaki’s job after all. 

So he’d expected Iwaizumi to greet him with a fierce bonk on the head and one of his  **_THAT’S DANGEROUS_ ** reprimands, but no– the boss had only given him this sort of unexpectedly disappointed, chagrined look and told him to watch his back with double the usual intent if he was going to get ‘involved’, and finished the conversation with an order to make sure his private life didn’t leak over into his professional.

Iwaizumi’s comments about getting involved were disconcerting, like his boss expected him to end up fucking Yahaba again. Kyoutani was determined to write off what had happened as a fluke, a one time mistake. Sleeping with a guy like Yahaba again would be dangerous, insane, life threatening. 

In retrospect, Kyoutani should’ve taken into account that he liked getting into fist fights for fun, liked to make trouble. Thrived on mayhem and high stakes, even ones that he might lose.

Then he wouldn’t have been so shocked when, maybe three weeks later, he’d spotted Yahaba during his rounds at some bass-thumping nightclub whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember and… well, things happened.

He remembered with crystal clarity the sharp smile and mocking little wink Yahaba had given him when their eyes met through the crowd. It’d made Kyoutani blood boil and he’d nearly ended up getting into a fight with the asshole, only stopping when the bouncers had ‘asked’ that they leave the premises after his shouting got so loud you could hear it over the booming speakers.

The cold night air outside the club had done nothing to cool him off, and he’d continued snarling at Yahaba, ignoring the man he assumed to be Yahaba’s guard hovering over them anxiously. They’d ended the argument with Yahaba’s iron grip pulling his shirt taut, and there’d been something dark and daunting and enticing as hell in those confident, bright eyes. A something that  _ hadn’t _ doused the fire of Kyoutani’s anger, but made him burn in a different way. Yahaba offered a quiet suggestion to continue this someplace private. Why he’d accepted was a mystery.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. There was something about their fighting– some underlying, unspoken connection, lurking behind harsh words. The best he could figure was that somewhere along the line his brain short circuited or his wires got crossed and he went from ‘ _ I’m gonna pulverize your pretty face _ ’ to ‘ _ I’m gonna fuck your pretty face _ ’.

And it just sort of kept happening. 

He’d never been good about thinking things through. It just wasn’t in his nature. He went with his gut reaction– without fail, full out, at one hundred and twenty percent.  Bypassing fear, or worry, or any other distracting, unwanted thoughts that only got in the way of surviving the moment. That part of his personality had caused him plenty of trouble in his life, but it was also the reason he was alive. And as a man of action he wasn’t used to double guessing himself. Now he had no idea what the fuck to do with all these bullshit emotions, self-doubt and unanswered questions running circles in his head. 

Because what the fuck was he doing? Why was he even attracted to someone so aggravating? What was so good about the smug bastard anyways? Why did he keep saying yes? Why were his survival instincts immune to Yahaba? What did that say about him? And for god's sake, why was he so weak for the twisted games Yahaba played? What about– 

And the cycle continued, round and round and round.

-♦️-

“You broke your nose again,” Kunimi observed.

Kyoutani scowled up at the kid from his place on the patients table. Kunimi might have been tall and as world weary as a thirty year old woman going through her third divorce, but that babyface gave truth to the lie. Just a kid, but one of few in the group that Kyoutani would tolerate. Even if he did nag like an overbearing mother. 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Kyoutani snapped back.

Kunimi rolled his eyes before retreating to his cabinets and drawers to pull out whatever doctor-y things he needed to fix the break. Kyoutani should probably know what the doctor-y things were by now. Kunimi’d set enough of his broken noses over the past seven month, but Kyoutani wasn’t big on pointless questions and Kunimi wasn’t big on conversation.

He wondered if friendships, or at least comradery, could be built on a foundation of comfortable silence.

“Breathe out and relax,” Kunimi ordered. Well, ordered was a reach. Kyoutani was pretty sure Kunimi was incapable of sounding anything other than bored or mildly irritated.  

Kyoutani shut his eyes, and exhaled deep and long, then hissed at the grating sensation as firm fingers molded his nose back into a useable shape. The sound of cartilage on cartilage a sharp echo of sensation reverberating through his bones, like a sensory version of nails on a chalkboard.

“The X-ray I took last showed that the cartilage structure in the bridge of your nose is greatly misshapen,” Kunimi said idly as he braced Kyoutani’s nose with deft efficientency. “If you want to be able to breath out of your nose normally again you’ll probably need reconstructive surgery.” Kyoutani grunted noncommittally in response. It hardly seemed worth it. He’d only get it broken again at some point. He didn’t say as much out loud, but he didn’t need to. “Maybe when you’re older and not routinely getting in fist fights,” Kunimi amended as he finished taping the brace into place. 

“Not fists,” Kyoutani said. “Was at Johzenji’s. Melee brawl.”

Kunimi raised a single, thin brow. “Oh? What’d you get hit with?”

“I think it was a tire iron. Maybe a golf club.” The corners of Kunimi’s lips drew up in a lazy half grin.

As Kunimi finished up, Kyoutani tried to beat a quick retreat. He wasn’t fast enough to escape Kunimi’s post-care instructions.

“No fighting for three weeks,” Kunimi said. “Minimum.”

“What, if someone attacks the boss while I’m on duty, am I supposed to tell him I can’t help, doc’s orders?” He asked scornfully.

Kunimi gave him a blank look. “You’re not stupid Kyoutani-san,” he said bluntly. “You know I meant recreational.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled back.

“I’d avoid vigorous activity for one to two weeks, or anything that’ll make you breathe harder.” Kunimi tilted his head to the side, and gave him a look Kyoutani wasn’t familiar with, but could already tell he wasn’t a fan of. “That includes sex by the way.”

Kyoutani spluttered, which was stupid and self incriminating but he couldn’t help it. Besides, he was pretty sure the way his ears were on fire would’ve given him away regardless. 

“Fuck off, like that’s any of your business,” he snapped, trying to cover his embaressment with a little extra hostility.

“I’ve seen the scratch marks on your back,” Kunimi pointed out, unperturbed by his snarling. He must be losing his intimidating touch. That or Kunimi, being a clever bastard, had figured Kyoutani was more bark than bite outside the ring. “One of those scratches gets infected and it’ll very much be my business.” 

Kyoutani didn’t have a reply to that, so instead he stormed out, ignoring the fact that he was running away from a kid who’d probably break if Kyoutani pushed him too hard. 

-♦️-

The sex was always similar and never the same. 

Kyoutani would fight tooth and nail for control, but inevitably he’d concede to Yahaba’s tyranny. Usually he’d make Yahaba work for it, at least for the first round. Other times he’d draw out their contest of wills, just to see how long as he could stand it. Because god damn, Yahaba was a terror. A charming, mesmerizing, gorgeous terror. 

Sometimes he gave quickly. Like the time Yahaba staked out his rounds and, without any fighting and just a little dirty talk, had manipulated Kyoutani until he’d given in before they’d even reached a bed. 

On rare nights Kyoutani dug his heels in, refused to back down. Times when everything in him burned too bright. Those nights ended in ferocious fucking that lit his nerves up like a firecracker. Those nights were not a meeting of bodies so much as a high speed crash. Made up of snarling and scratching and biting and clawing at each other until the combined pain-pleasure became too much for a body to contain. Those nights never failed to leave him sore and bruised, maybe a little bloody but  _ extremely _ satisfied. Tonight was one of those nights.

“More,” Yahaba gasped, as Kyoutani buried his cock into wet, tight heat. Yahaba reached a hand back, gripped Kyoutani’s ass. Grasping, pulling him forward, like Yahaba was about to take over and fuck himself on Kyoutani’s cock at just the angle and speed he wanted. “God, hurry up and fuck me already.” 

And that there, that was the thing. The constant in their fucking. It didn’t matter how subservient or degrading or belittling a position was. Didn’t matter that tonight Kyoutani had manhandled him onto his hands and knees, his face almost buried in the sheets, physically dominated. Yahaba was still giving orders.

Kyoutani snarled back that he  _ would _ fuck him, if he’d just shut the fuck up. At the same time though, he was getting a firmer grip on sweat slick hips so he could start thrusting faster and deeper. Doing like he’d been told. He could have Yahaba stripped naked, on his knees, wildly fucking that wicked, irreverent mouth, but it’d be because that was what Yahaba  _ wanted _ . Had probably planned it too, because that was just the kind of terrifying Yahaba was. The kind of terrifying Kyoutani apparently had A Thing for.

“God, just– harder. You can do better than that. Give it to me harder,” Yahaba gasped, back arching and pushing his ass back into every thrust, and snarled, “Fuck me like you mean it you son of a bitch.” Kyoutani could feel familiar, blunt fingernails digging into the meat of his ass. He’d have finger shaped bruises there, for certain. 

“You’re such a fucking cock slut,” he snarled right back, hitching Yahaba’s hips up, searching for the right spot to wreck Yahaba so good he won’t have the breath for full sentences. “You really need my dick that bad?”

“Ha, please.” Yahaba’s breathy little laugh was muffled into the sheets, and far too smug. “Just know if you don’t start now you’ll end up shooting your load before you can – _ ah, fuck, right there _ – can really get down to the serious fucking.”

“ _ I’ll fucking show you– _ ” his snarl was feral, anamlistic. He didn’t even sound human. But then, that was what Yahaba was asking for, wasn’t it. 

The dim embers of his everthere anger, he let it sear through his bones and blood and brain and into pounding Yahaba with raw strength and savage thrusts, losing himself in a thoughtless, frenzied need to fuck. Any concern he was being too rough was burned away when, in between thrusts that punched the air from his lungs, Yahaba gasped, “Fuck yes,” spine arching so hard he might break it, then, “just like that,” and got rough right back at him. 

Those nails dragging at Kyoutani ass broke skin, moved to claw at his thigh, and up to his back, pulling him down and over Yahaba. Using the severe arch of his spine, and with a little twisting, Yahaba was able to dig his teeth into flesh. He bit at Kyoutani’s shoulder so deeply it had him shouting, could feel it bleeding and the slight rumble of Yahaba’s self-pleased hum. Kyoutani shivering as lips licked and sucked around the bite. Mouths meeting in searing, sloppy kisses. Both of them burning, everything boiling over. Kyoutani let everything that wasn’t Yahaba burn away. There was only the heat between them, a hot mouth like a brand on his neck, the smell of sweat and sex, the slap of skin meeting skinn and desperate breaths. Yahaba struggling as they raged against each other– everything narrowed down to an ecstasy of violent, carnal intimacy and Kyoutani’s mind was finally, blessedly quiet. 

-♦️-

It was bound to happen sooner or later. They worked for rival groups that’d been engaged in a turf war for over a decade. It was more surprising that Iwaizumi and Oikawa had gone this long without facing off over business matters. A testament to how much trouble Shiratorizawa was giving both groups. 

Kyoutani didn’t know what the recent offense was or what sparked it. It wasn’t his job to care. He liked to keep things simple: follow Iwaizumi’s orders, keep the underlings in line, look threatening, back those threats with enthusiastic violence, beat the enemy. And above all, keep the boss alive. Try to stay alive himself if possible.

Kyoutani’s recent instructions involved standing on the boss’s left and menacing the opposition while he and Oikawa traded barbed insults about whatever. Honestly, it had derailed from whatever problem to the usual bickering a while ago. Kyoutani didn’t mind, he was enjoying intimidating the guard also on Oikawa’s left. The tall, scrawny kid got increasingly nervous the longer Kyoutani stared him down. 

Oikawa managed to ruin his fun by leaning over and whispering something to turnip head. Whatever Oikawa said had the guard finding his backbone again. Lame.

He considered turning his attention to Matsukawa, who was number two on his List only after Oikawa, but the guy was engaged in some sort of smirking/eyebrow raising contest with Hanamaki. 

His next target would’ve been the shorter guy with a serene smile, but Kyoutani dropped it the moment he spotted Yahaba.

Yahaba was Oikawa’s protege, his third in command, and everyone who didn’t have their head up their own ass knew he’d be the one to take up after Oikawa either died or got bored. So he should’ve been at Oikawa’s side, with only Matsukawa and his boss’s guards keeping closer. A silent backup. A quiet threat. A dangerous look. Instead Yahaba lingered on the groups fringes, innocuous and unassuming and completely wrong.

The Yahaba Kyoutani knew was intense and fierce and eye-catching, charming when he wanted to be and undoubtedly dangerous. He took delight in the subjugation of Kyoutani, bending others to his will, and talked so much filth Kyoutani was honestly worried that one day Yahaba would talk enough sin and filth that he’d get off on that alone. His Yahaba cut straight to the heart of things with ruthless efficiency, when he wasn’t taking merciless joy in mind-fucking you. 

This Yahaba on the street faded into the background so completely Kyoutani could’ve overlooked him. A washed out replica of himself– only half a person and missing any of his memorable or standout qualities. People called Yahaba Oikawa’s shadow. Kyoutani now understood why. 

Sure, he was still a pretty boy who dressed just a shade too nice to look mob material –neutral tones with no embellishments, completely lacking the loud colors and flashy accessories most wore to advertise– but he looked… faceless was the best description Kyoutani could manage. This Yahaba looked and acted like he was attending a business conference. A bystander, a pawn, a subordinate, a nobody. All things Kyoutani couldn’t reconcile with the man he’d been sleeping with. The complete flip unsettled him.

Kyoutani leaned back behind Iwaizumi and in towards Hanamaki. “Why’s he pretending to be so… passive?” Kyoutani asked in a fierce whisper, trying to keep at least some of his anger out of the question. He probably failed.

“Who?” Hanamaki asked, still half distracted with his weird face-making contest. 

“The fucking creampuff Shitty-kawa’s training.”

Hanamaki turned to him with a frown, eyebrows creased. “Yahaba?” Hanamaki scanned the crowd and found their subject. “He’s always like that. It’s the part he likes to play. He sits on the sidelines and observes so he can report back to Oikawa afterwords, since the grand king’s too busy engaging in verbal fistacuffs with Iwazumi to keep his usual unnerving attention to details.” 

“He’s always like that?” Kyoutani repeated in disbelief. 

“Uh-huh,” Hanamaki paused, thoughtful for a moment, before grinning and actually, honest to god,  _ wiggling his eyebrows  _ at Kyoutani. “The quiet ones are always kinky as shit, huh?”

Kyoutani scowled and went back to glaring at the enemy, now with real malice behind his eyes. He didn’t understand why it pissed him off so much that Yahaba was being… weird, but it did and he would use that rage to stoke the constant fury burning just under his skin to something more deadly. He tried to glare holes into Oikawa. Metaphorically, unfortunately. 

The worst was yet to come, because Oikawa caught his look and grinned wide and with far too many teeth to be friendly. He waved at Kyoutani lazily. “Hey Mad Dog, you ready to leave that awful brute of a boss and switch to the winning side?”

Kyoutani was about to snarl a retort –the kind that would get him in serious shit– but Iwaizumi overrode him. “I know rejection is a foreign concept for you Crappy-kawa,” (not one off Iwaizumi’s better rude nicknames in Kyoutani’s opinion) “but no means no. Maybe if you weren't so busy trying to poach from me you wouldn't have gotten caught blind and lost that turf to Ushiwaka’s group.” Oikawa sniffed, snubbing him with a nose in the air.

Fucking drama queen. 

Ignoring Iwaizumi, Oikawa kept speaking to Kyoutani. “With another bruiser like you we'll have no problem reclaiming our territory from those snobby eagles, and take a bite out of them at the same time. It’ll be so fun! What do you say Kyouken-chan?”

“Get fucked,” he sneered. “I refuse to work under you. Ever.”

Oikawa remained unaffected and annoyingly affable. Like any insult that didn’t come from Iwaizumi’s mouth was unimportant “That so?” Oikawa said, cocking his head. “I've really made you hate me, huh?”

The leash Kyoutani tried –and usually failed– to keep his temper on was fraying with every second under the creep’s smile. Peripherally, Kyoutani was aware the bastard was trying to get a rise out of him. Yahaba pulled this trick enough he was starting to recognize it in the moment instead of hindsight. 

It didn’t stop his harsh, snarling retort. “Come get some, and I’ll show you just how much hate I’ve got.” His fists were clenched so hard he’d have nail mark bruises later.

“Oooh, that just makes me want you more Kyouken-chan.” There was an alarmingly predatory gleam in those eyes that had the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. Something in that look had Kyoutani’s most base survival instincts setting off about ten different alarms. He had to fight the impulse to take a step away from Oikawa.

“If you’re done flirting with my underling, then can we get to business?” Iwaizumi said sharply. 

Kyoutani strained against the sudden and blatant disgust at the mention of  _ Oikawa of all people _ flirting with him, with the minimal success of not saying anything aloud. His mind was a different matter. He spent the rest of the tense meeting running horrified circles around the idea and the frankly disturbing images his brain conjured up without his permission. 

A some point an agreement was reached. Kyoutani only knew that it didn’t end in violence. Which was a good thing, because he wasn’t totally certain his brain wouldn’t randomly present him with weird, uncomfortable Oikawa thoughts. It’d be pretty stupid if he got himself brained because he’d been distracted at some new Oikawa related horrors.

_ “Yahaba would laugh himself sick if he knew,” _ he thought grimly as the groups parted ways. 

-♦️-

Half the time Kyoutani thought Yahaba was conning him somehow. What was his end game?– because there had to be one. Something other than sex, because for intelligent, rational people, mind blowing sex wouldn’t be enough to ignore the reality of the situation.

For Kyoutani’s part, his dick had a history of trampling over rational thought. But for someone like Yahaba, it just didn’t make sense, made even less sense for a manipulative social climber, an intuitive game player, or someone so clearly ambitious. There had to be something, some motivator. Kyoutani just hadn’t figured it out yet. 

The other half of the time was on the inevitable knife in the chest when Yahaba finally got bored playing with him. It wasn’t an ‘if’ so much as a ‘when’, and it was a good bet that the knife wouldn’t be metaphoric. 

At least it wouldn’t be in the back. His gut told him that Yahaba respected him enough that he’d at least show him the decency of meeting Kyoutani face-to-face when he finally tried to kill him.

-♦️-

He once again found himself staring at the ceiling, alone for now, and becoming increasingly aware of just how screwed he was. At least this ceiling wasn’t water stained. Yahaba had cornered him in a posh area this time around, and it was the nicest love hotel he’d ever visited.

They’d already gone a few rounds and now Yahaba was hiding in the bathroom. ‘Taking a shower’ he’d said. Having a cig break in reality. Kyoutani didn’t get why or at what point Yahaba had taken to smoking in private. He sure as hell hadn’t said anything about, but maybe his scared up hands told the story for him. Either way, it was starting to feel like he’d let Yahaba too far into his head.

There was a special kind of insanity in sleeping with Yahaba, he knew that. He was vividly aware of just how fantastically idiotic it was. Yet, sometimes he found it hard to remember  _ why _ he should be wary, if only when Yahaba was actively pulling one of his mind-fucks. 

Instead of fire fighting fire, Yahaba would become water, soothing and sweet and lips dripping praise with an occasional bout of cruelty that twisted Kyoutani’s two opposing kinks together. One feeding into another until Kyoutani was an overstimulated, deavested mess, willing to beg or plead or do anything Yahaba wanted. Not just so he could get off, but because he  _ wanted _ to be good. He wanted to be good for Yahaba, to please him too.  

Inhabiting that sort of headspace was terrifying and idiotic and god,  _ so fucking good _ . Even after the fucking it felt amazing, because it didn’t stop there. Yahaba would pet and coo as they came down. ‘Sub space’ Yahaba called it and insisted on ‘taking care of his good boy’ after. Kyoutani would be so blitzed out he wouldn’t protest the unusual gentleness, actually enjoyed the aftercare. Sometimes Yahaba would work him back up again and they’d go a few rounds like that and it was just as toe-curlingly good every single time. 

There was something to be said for giving up control. A perverse sort of freedom in it, an undeniable, absolutely insane attraction in the very real risk of giving that kind of power to Yahaba, to let himself be vulnerable in front of someone that deadly. To be open and exposed for brief snatches of time before returning to reality. 

Kyoutani heard the creak of the door, the soft pad of nearly silent feet, and the lingering smell of smoke on damp skin. Yahaba flopped onto the bed next to him with a little sigh.

Maybe Yahaba was done for the night. He was never sure. Every encounter was a mystery all its own. Would it be praise and long fingers wrapped around his neck, or would Yahaba be in the mood for tearing into each other in one of their warped fighting via fucking battles. Maybe Yahaba didn’t even know ahead of time.

If nothing else, the uncertainty was keeping him on his toes. He could  _ feel _ himself slowly being pressed to some metaphorical edge, but dizzy from his circling thoughts or distracted by base wantings he couldn’t see how much space remained between him and the fall. He just hoped he hadn’t passed the point of no return.  

Yet another downside to sleeping with Yahaba: it made him way too introspective. It was fucking exhausting. 

Speaking to the ceiling, Kyoutani finally forced out what had been plaguing him, “We can’t keep doing this.”

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Yahaba frowning at him, looking slightly irritated, like Kyoutani was a gnat buzzing around his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s been months since Matsukawa struck out with me,” he pointed out, annoyed already because Yahaba was apparently in the mood to be difficult about it. The irritation gave him his courage back, and he turned over to face Yahaba. “You obviously know by now that there’s no flipping me. At some point Oikawa’s gonna get bored of waiting.” Yahaba tilted his head, watching Kyoutani with a sort of distant, bland disinterest that seriously pissed Kyoutani off.

“You think he’s going to order me to kill you.” It wasn’t a question, and Kyoutani didn’t bother to answer.

It was what he would do in Oikawa’s place. It was what Iwaizumi would do. Pragmatism didn’t come to Kyoutani easily, but he wasn’t ignorant of the way these things worked either– the harsh facts of their job, the cruelty of human nature, the sharp edges of existence. People like him burned bright but quick. And from both ends. 

They stared at one another. A conversation of looks passed between them, words built on the flick of lashes and sentences spoken with an eye blink. Kyoutani didn’t know what was said, but he understood it. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Kyoutani said after their lengthy pause. “A week, a month, maybe more, but the order will come. I’ll have to fight you.” 

He found himself unable to watch Yahaba for this last bit, and rolled onto his back again, eyes closed against the knowledge that this would be the last of these small moments the two of them stole together. “Right now I wouldn’t be able to kill you. I need the distance.”

Yahaba hummed, a sound that was either dismissive or thoughtful. Kyoutani couldn’t tell. “I’m sure you’re aware that just over a decade ago Seijoh was a single, unified family; not the two rival groups it’s become today.”

Kyoutani opened his eyes, if only to squint at Yahaba suspiciously. Where the fuck was Yahaba going with this? Because yes, of course he knew that. He might not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he wasn’t completly stupid. He was also not stupid enough to ignore the death sentence hanging between them, which, to Kyoutani, seemed a much more pressing topic then what was sure to be some absured story– probably convoluted and rambling and full of dramatic foreshadowing because Yahaba was just like that. Kyoutani’d end up with no answers and a headache from trying to parse out what Yahaba was actually trying to communicate with his ass-backward story. 

Yahaba could give him a hard on with just a smile, but a few sentences into one of his gossip tangents and he could kill Kyoutani’s boner just as quick. This thing between them worked best with less talking and more fucking. 

Still, he nodded, and let Yahaba continue with whatever bullshit he was about to spin for him. One last time.

“Less well known is that both their parents were high ranking members of Seijoh back before the split,” Yahaba said conspiratorially. “It seems Iwaizumi and Oikawa-san were childhood friends.”

He stared at Yahaba, taking a few heartbeats to digest… that. Because no way– 

Iwaizumi had a list of insulting names for Oikawa so long Kyoutani couldn’t keep track and he’d heard Oikawa call Iwaizumi any number of unflattering names in turn. They regularly threatened each other. On one occasion he’d even managed to head butted Oikawa before their guards intervened. Iwaizumi had a remorseless mean streak when it came to Oikawa, who in turn took an unholy joy in petty and immature acts –like trying to steal Kyoutani–  when Oikawa was otherwise politely distant and fakely nonchalant with his other rivals.

Those two were a match made in hell.

“If that’s true,” Kyoutani said slowly. “then something seriously went wrong.” 

Really, really,  _ really _ , wrong.

“Maybe so, maybe not,” Yahaba said, irritatingly vague. Why did he like this asshole again? “But burned bridges can always be rebuilt.” 

“That’s great. Very moving. Thanks for the history less. Quick question: why do I give a shit?”

 Inexplicably, his snark drew a crooked grin from underneath Yahaba’s placid, storytime mask. “Mmm, because I’m telling you how I’m going to solve our little problem here.” 

He waited for the impulse to shake Yahaba until an answer popped out to pass (mostly) and grated out his reply, “For once can you just say a thing straight out instead of coming at it sideways?”  

Yahaba had the gall to look put out by the request before heaving an over-the-top sigh. “Fine, just know you’re ruining my fun.”

“I’m  _ more _ than okay with that.”

“Rude,” Yahaba said primly. “The ‘thing’, as you so eloquently put it, is that I’ve had this plan going for a while. Because, when you get down to it, the differences between your group and my group are greatly negligible and the separation leaves us weak. With the way Karasuno has been gaining power lately and the ever annoying presence of Ushijima it doesn’t make practical sense for the two groups to stay apart anymore.”

“You’re solution for getting me to join Oikawa and not having to kill me is… to merge our groups?” Kyoutani can’t even manage to wrap his mind around the imaginary idea, let alone see it as a potential reality. “That’s insane. If I had a week I couldn’t list all the reasons that’s a horrible idea.”

Yahaba made another dismissive sound, a hand waving to bat away Kyoutani’s words. “Please, my life doesn’t revolve around fucking you, you little narcissist.” 

Kyoutani was actually kind of offended by that. He wasn’t the one who thought he was so amazing he could somehow resolve a decade long grudge match all by himself. If anyone was the narcissist here it was Yahaba. 

“Been working this angle for over a year now,” Yahaba continued. “It’s sheer luck that it’s coincided with my orders to flip you. So don’t get too big headed about it.”

“As great as that sounds, it’s never gonna happen,” Kyoutani retorted. “Iwaizumi and Oikawa can’t be in the same room without trying to maim each other.”

Yahaba shrugged. “The same could be said of us.”

“We’re not running a syndicate though.”

“But we’re not lost childhood friends either.”

Kyoutani finally got fed up and snapped out, “How’s that gonna help? What’s so important about a friendship that ended over a decade ago? That’s just more time for bullshit and grudges to build up.”

“Sorry, you’ve already used your daily pass for non-cryptic answers,” Yahaha said flippantly. 

That made Kyoutani scowl. He was going to get early onset wrinkles with how much scowling he did around Yahaba. Yet another reason to see less of each other.

Of course, Yahaba took that moment to slip his guard, pinned him lightly to the bed. That pretty face hovering over him, marred by a sharp smirk of lips as Yahaba basked in looming over him. Fucking tease.

“My life would be so much easier,” Kyoutani griped. “If you were less attractive.”

Yahaba leaned over and kissed him on the nose, knowing how much it irritated him, and leaned in. Brushing their lips together he murmured into the factional space there, “Same to you sweetheart.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, hopefully I can churn it out before I get frustrated with my characterization of Yahaba. It's a challenge. His character really doesn't lend it's self to a mobster and he's ending up half himself and half a sadist-oikawa knock off.  
> Eh, it's been fun to write though. And thanks for sticking around to read my self indulgent twaddle.


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